Jonathon's Angel
by Fangirl.703
Summary: Everyone Clary loves is gone and she's on her own. Except for her brother, who she realizes only wants the best for his little sister and comes to take her away. After going with him she battles her own inner demons while Jonathon pushes her towards war. Jonathon is the only thing Clary has left but can she live with her choices?
1. The Angel's Family

_**Disclaimer: I don't own anything except the plot. Hope you guys enjoy this, it's another twist on the whole Clary/Jonathon relationship. Have fun and post suggestions and comments in the reviews! ;)**_

_**Again warnings like I posted for my other story.**_

_**-Sex;**_

_** -Forced sex**_

_** -Angry sex**_

_** -Hot sex**_

_** -All the sex in between**_

_**-Incest**_

_**-War**_

_**-Blood**_

_**-Pain**_

_**-If you are a sissy, leave now and come back when you've grown a spine or some tolerance for smut.**_

_**-Smut (Of course)**_

_**-That's sort of it for this story I might add some more as I develop the plot. Anyway-**_

_**YOU'VE BEEN WARNED! (So all those stuck ups out there saying 'Oh you need to tell me if it's going to be dirty' *said in high pitched whiny voice* shut the hell up because here it is)**_

_**BTW the smut with these particular characters is fucking implied with, oh I don't know, the RATED M sign on the story. So maybe if you open your eyes you can stop whining like little school girls.**_

_**I mean absolutely no insult to any of my constant readers, I love you guys, but it kind of pisses me off that someone comes in, reads my story, the story with RATED M on it and says 'Oh you need to warn about the *stuff*' In any case I should put a small warning but I'm covering my bases. See look.**_

_**^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^ See those arrows, they're pointing to the warning. Read it and be warned.**_

_**(No offense) ;)**_

Lying in Jonathon's bed, looking at the gray painted ceiling, with her brother's warm arm wrapped around her, Clary felt bliss. After so much rejection, so much pain and loss, Clary finally felt at peace. Yet, there was something wrong, something missing. Jace.

Jace had died two months ago from the heavenly fire. Not from the fire itself but what the Silent Brothers had done to try to cure him. In all their testing, poking and prodding, feeding elixirs and potions into Jace, one day it was too much, Jace's body couldn't take it anymore it had finally shut down.

Alec and Isabelle had blamed her for his death because _she_ was the one who stabbed him with Glorious. _She _was the one to put the heavenly fire in him and Alec and Isabelle had pinned it on her. Maryse and Robert had joined their children in blaming the death of their adoptive child on her.

They had kicked her out of the Institute. Clary went to live with Luke and her mother at his place. They had gotten married before Jace died and had taken up demon hunting again. They had gone out to hunt a Shax demon but it turned out to be an ambush. Her mother had died defending Luke's injured body and when the rescue team had come to help, Luke was already too far-gone; he had too much Shax demon poison in him.

Raphael had come after Simon. He knew the Mark of Cain was gone and it wasn't long before he took his vengeance. Clary had tracked him down herself and driven a stake through his dead heart.

After she had been kicked out of the Institute, after her mother and Luke and Simon had died. Clary's birthday had passed, her eighteenth, and she had lived in Luke's house. She'd had nowhere to go, no one to go to. Until she remembered, after all that chaos and tragedy, that Jonathon was still out there planning the Shadowhunter's demise. Jonathon was the only one who wanted her, who was still coming after her.

Clary had returned from hunting a band of demons running amuck in downtown Brooklyn. She was covered in demon blood, packed to the brim with weapons. She stepped inside Luke's house, she supposed it was her house now, and seen Jonathon. Sitting at the table with his feet propped up on the tabletop, his chair balanced on two legs and his hands folded behind his head, a triumphant smirk played across his face.

When he stood up relief and anger had flooded her body. Relief that someone had finally come to take her away from hell and anger at his previous actions, the relief had won because her grief was still too fresh and she needed someone, her brother. She had practically thrown down her weapons and flung herself into his embrace. Clary had come to a realization. She hated the Shadowhunters, hated the world she was supposed to belong to, hated that it rejected her after she was so unwillingly thrown into it. That Jonathon was right; she did belong to him and him to her. They were the last two Morgensterns, family, but too different to be the same. She realized that she and Jonathon belonged together. Were made for each other. She the angel and he the demon, and Jonathon wanted to change the Shadowhunters. She was in full support of him.

"Brother," she had whispered in his ear, "take me home."

Jonathon had twisted the silver ring on his finger she remembered from so long ago and they had disappeared. Not a moment later they had reappeared in a manor, a bedroom in the manor. When their feet touched the ground Jonathon had looked into Clary's eyes and said, "I knew you'd realize that you belong to me and I to you."

"I was a fool then. Not anymore. I know that you are now mine to have and I will take you if you will have me," Clary had spoken.

She had seen a lust and love burn in Jonathon's black eyes before he brought his mouth down on hers. She had returned his kiss, with a hunger and joy. She had not been touched like this in a long time and she craved it.

Jonathon moved to her neck, trailing his harsh kisses down her throat while undoing the leather straps of her gear. Clary had laughed in pure joy as she bent her head to return his kisses to her throat with ones of her own. She quickly unbuttoned Jonathon's shirt and thrown it across the room.

Jonathon had let out a lustful moan as Clary's teeth had brushed his skin. He'd pulled her back up to him to kiss her again while tearing off the top half of her gear, leaving her in a tunic. Jonathon tore that off and kissed her neck down her throat to her stomach slowly undoing her leather pants as well. On his knees now he slid the leather down her legs and tossed them in the growing pile of clothing.

He stood back up his black eyes blazing along with Clary's green ones. She was left in her black, satin bra and panties. He wrapped his arms around her waist and hoisted her up, now craning his neck to kiss her. She wrapped her legs around his muscled torso as he carried her to the bed. He laid her down with him on top.

They were both panting, inhaling each other's breaths. Jonathon went down to her neck again and she reached her hands down to his jean button. Jonathon helped her by ripping them off once the button was released and he was in nothing but his boxers and she nothing but her panties and bra.

They stopped for a moment; each staring at the other's toned beautiful bodies. Then as if on cue with each other, they had reached desperately for the others' under clothes, tearing them off and discarding them.

Everything from there was a blur to Clary. Pressures and reliefs. Jonathon's hand rubbing her in such a way that she moaned in pleasure. Her returning that rub and Jonathon moaning fiercely into her mouth.

"I love you," she had whispered in his ear while her virginity was still hers. Jonathon had growled like an animal and then pain. Pain immediately overtaken by pleasure, pleasure that swept over her in great waves. Consuming every thought that was not of this moment, this beautiful moment with her brother.

Jonathon slowed and sped up, eliciting every moan and scream of pleasure he could from Clary and her meeting him, making him growl and moan and sigh. Just as Clary reached that glorious peak Jonathon had screamed her name, already dropped off the edge and she followed, screaming his name as they both collapsed. Sweat glistening on their skin as Jonathon laid his head on her chest with her fingers tangled in his hair, his arms wrapped around her hot back.

As they had lain panting on the bed, Clary had laughed, her first genuine laugh in ages and Jonathon joined her. Then they had crawled under the sheets, and kissed and played and moaned until they both dropped to the side of the bed utterly exhausted.

Clary turned her head to smile at her brother and he smiled back. "That was… I don't know. Amazing. Gratifying. Fulfilling. Pleasurable. _Mind-blowing._ It was better than I thought. With you," Clary said as she gazed into her brother's black eyes, still blazing with lust.

"You expected less?" he asks with a smile and rolls himself on top of her, placing his soft mouth on hers. "Dear," he places a kiss on her cheek, "sweet," he puts a kiss on her jaw, "Clarissa," he moves back up to her mouth. "I was expected to excel at all aspects of my life," he says in between kisses and Clary's giggles. "That includes pleasing my sister," he now mumbles into her neck.

Clary flips her brother over so that she is on top, kissing him. "That also means that I exceed at pleasing my brother. My brother the demon."

"That you are the angel to little sister." Clary lie down on top of him and let him kiss her neck as she fell asleep.

Now she leans over and kisses Jonathon as he sleeps. His arm squeezes her side but then loosens as she slides out of bed and pulls on one of Jonathon's shirts. She pads over to the bathroom and shoves open the door. She walks across the cold tile to the mirror and places her hands on the counter, staring at herself in the reflective surface.

She expects to look different, older somehow. She expects to find a weary look in her eyes but she only finds pain and anger. Her red hair is still tied back from when she went out to hunt those demons yesterday. She looks at her neck and chest, more thin white scars trace along her skin from her applying many more runes for mourning, loss, for a broken heart then when she went demon-hunting, precision, balance, strength, agility, speed. She only Marked herself once on her chest, when a ravener demon had stung her right in the sternum, she had quickly drawn a powerful _iratze _as close to the wound as possible.

She remembers when she and Jonathon were alone in Valentine's apartment and he had stopped her in the doorway, running a hand over her shoulders and telling her to keep the Marks on her arms and legs. She lets a smile creep up at the memory, she'd been so scared then, so vulnerable. She doesn't know how she'd functioned back then, barely able to defend herself.

Her green eyes look shattered from all her heartbreak, it makes them looked like cracked emeralds. She never got the chance to mourn Jace back in New York. She had gone into shock and then friends betrayed her and kicked her out of the Institute. She never finished grieving her mother or Luke or Simon. She never had the chance to so she grieves now.

First come the silent tears, trickling down her face in little streams to land on the tops of her hands. They're hot and big and land on the counter with a plop. Then come the tremors, raking through her body, making it unsteady. She shakes until she can't stand anymore so she sinks to the ground. Then the sobs, she gasps for air as the tears come more heavily and soak her shirtfront.

She says each of their names and waits in between each word so every person she loved, she mourns over separately. "Mom," she says quietly and cries for her wishing she were here to give her guidance and love. "Luke," her only father who ever cared for her. "Simon," her best friend who loved her dearly, who was given immortality but had it stripped away because of her placing the Mark of Cain on him. Finally she whispers, "Jace," and a fresh round of tears burst from her eyes. She never got to say goodbye, never got to see his golden eyes alight again, or feel his touch caress her face as his velvety lips met hers and they embraced each other for minutes.

She doesn't know when but Jonathon has come in and sits next to her in his boxers. He reaches out and pulls Clary into his lap, gently stroking her face and hair. He kisses her forehead and temple, her cheeks and jaw. He hugs her tightly until she is gasping for air, having sobbed too hard and too long.

"Shh," Jonathon says, "Calm down. Breathe with me, slowly."

He takes a deep breath and Clary follows suit until her gasps and sobs and tremors stop, with nothing left but hot tears that don't seem to want to stop. She turns around and wraps her legs around Jonathon's waist, hugging him tightly. She buries her face in his neck and he brings up a hand to the back of her neck to hold her head.

"They're all gone Jonathon. They're gone. They're gone," Clary whispers.

"I know my angel but you have me now and I will never leave like they did. I will never turn on you; you will have me forever and always. I will love you for an eternity," Jonathon says sweetly.

Clary pulls back and looks into Jonathon's endless black eyes. "And I you brother," she says and kisses him slowly, sweetly, drawing it out as if it's her last kiss. He presses his body into hers and she wraps her arms around the back of his neck. He presses his hand to the small of her back and deepens the kiss.

Clary pulls back and Jonathon moves to her neck and kisses the tender skin of her pulse point. "Thank you," she whispers.

Jonathon smiles against her neck. "May I ask for what?"

"For saving me, loving me, being here for me."

"Hmm, your welcome, sweet sister. I wouldn't let my little sister be alone. And you know what else? I need you, we need each other, to balance each other and you," he nips at her neck making Clary giggle softly, "Are the key to their down fall."

"We'll see," Clary says, her eyes closed and face turned toward the ceiling, letting Jonathon ravish her neck and chest.

"Oh really," Jonathon says as he swings her up off the ground. She shrieks and clings to Jonathon as he carries her back over to the bed. "I could always make you," he whispers as he hikes up her shirt, running his hands over her torso.

"But you don't want to, so you're not going to," she says as she rolls him over and kisses him one last time before leaving him lying on the bed staring at the ceiling, open mouthed.

"Come on," Jonathon whines. Clary laughs and walks over to the closet. She pulls open the sliding black and white screen to Jonathon's closet, lined with his clothes, suits, jeans, bomber jackets, sweat pants, sneakers, loafers, sweaters, shirts and all in Jonathon's color scheme. Black, white, grey, dark blue and neutral purple.

She pulls on a pair of Jonathon's jeans and grabs a belt to cinch it tightly around her waist so they don't fall down. Jonathon comes up behind her and hugs her, kissing her neck. "Don't you want your own jeans? I have smaller pair in my drawer."

"Well go get them then," she says. Jonathon undoes her belt and slips it off. "Jonathon," she cautions. He slides them down her legs kissing her thighs as he bends down on one knee then throws her over his shoulder making Clary shriek in surprise. He carries her to the dresser on the other side of the giant walk in closet. He sets her down on a cushioned bench in front of a dresser.

Jonathon rummages around in one of the drawers until he pulls out of pair of brand new designer jeans. "A smaller pair huh? More looks like you went shopping for a new wardrobe for me."

"No one said I didn't," Jonathon says.

"Somehow I find it hard to imagine you shopping in a women's clothing store," Clary says as Jonathon leans down and kisses her, placing the jeans in her hands.

"I don't do it myself; I have the castle attendants do it." Jonathon stands and walks out of the closet.

"Where do you even get the money?" Clary calls from the closet once she's pulled on her jeans. She walks into the bedroom only to be ambushed by now a fully clothed Jonathon.

"Ahh," Clary screeches as Jonathon picks her up and spins her around. "Why are you so happy?" she says as Jonathon sets her down and kisses her enthusiastically.

"Because I finally have my sister back. I'm finally not alone and I'm going to enjoy every moment of it as if you were about to run away." Jonathon sets her down and looks into Clary's eyes.

She looks back and says, "I have nothing to run to Jonathon, you're my home now." She pulls back and turns toward the door, walking out into the high ceilinged hall with thick dark blue carpeting. "Now if you don't mind I'm going to try and find the kitchen because I'm starving."

She pushes through a swinging door into a gourmet kitchen with white marble counters, black stainless steel appliances, and a marble bar with stools lining it. A raised balcony with sliding glass doors looks out on a churning blue sea and a glass table with lounge chairs sits to the side of balcony.

"Modern," she says opening the fridge door while Jonathon walks in.

"Only the best for my angel," Jonathon says sliding onto a bar stool and watches as Clary pulls out some eggs and precooked rice and sprinkle cheese. "You know how to cook now?"

Clary casts an irked look at Jonathon, "I did live on my own for a month and a half after my boyfriend, mother, Luke and best friend died and then was kicked out of the Institute. So yes, a girl has to know these things to live alone."

Jonathon says nothing as Clary digs around for a pan and places it on the stovetop then cracks a few eggs in the skillet, adding in the rice. She can feel Jonathon's eyes bore into her back as she stirs the eggs around until they're scrambled. She opens multiple cabinets until she finds clear glass plates and pulls out two. She dishes up two servings off eggs and puts sprinkle cheese on them.

She places one in front of Jonathon who sits intently at the counter watching Clary's every move. She bends over the counter and places an elbow on the tabletop, eating her eggs and looking back at Jonathon.

"So what now?" she asks as Jonathon eats his eggs.

"A ball, a meeting, a war," he says finishing his eggs and taking both their dishes to the sink.

Clary groans in disgust and leans her head on the counter. "Why a ball? Can't we just get straight to the meeting?" she whines. She hates balls, or any events that require the donning of a dress.

"Because our acolytes need to know that Valentine's children are together and ready to bring down the Clave," Jonathon says coming up behind her and kissing her neck.

Clary isn't sure if she should support Jonathon in taking down the Clave. She doesn't see why he needs to. Yes, the Clave is not the best government but that doesn't mean you have to throw the world into ensuing chaos over it, causing war and multiple casualties and deaths. Clary decides to keep this opinion to herself because the wound the Lightwoods caused and her loved ones' deaths is still too fresh. She doesn't need to argue with Jonathon right now and ruin her good mood.

She turns around to kiss Jonathon who hugs her close to his body. She kisses his neck once then pulls back and looks into his black eyes. "And when is this ball?"

"In an hour or so," he says as Clary walks out onto the balcony and settles herself in a lounge chair looking out at the ocean. Jonathon seats himself down in the neighboring lounge chair and stares at the churning blue ocean with his sister.

"What if I don't feel like going to a ball?"

"I could always make you," Jonathon whispers.

Clary turns on her brother with an incredulous look. "I would like to see you try."

Jonathon shrugs then moves in a blur of white blond. He quickly scoops her up and swings her over his shoulder. "Jonathon! Put me down!"

"Sorry little sister but you're going to the ball whether you like it or not. I know you still hold hatred for me even if you have given yourself to me so you're not going to comply with everything but I can still make you go to a ball until you settle in," he says carrying her back to the bedroom.

He places her back on the couch in the closet and opens a mirrored door to a rack of ball gowns, most narrow and thin which will show off her figure. He leans against the frame and smiles at Clary.

She eyes him warily. "Pick anyone you like just know if you don't I'll pick one for you and force you into it. That won't be pretty for you."

Here is the brother Clary remembers. Commanding and temperamental. She'll have to learn to caution herself around him if she's going to live with him. She doesn't think she'll have a problem though; she has a good idea on how to manipulate him. She can be just as fierce and cunning as he can.

Clary leans back on the couch and says, "The black one."

Jonathon smiles and pulls out a strapless, black, satin dress that shimmers with every movement. "Good choice little sister. Now am I going to have to force you into it or are you a big girl and can do it yourself?"

Clary laughs slightly and takes the dress from Jonathon. "Get out," she says shoving him out the closet door. She leans back and eyes the dress with disgust. She sighs and says to no one, "I guess I should put you on."


	2. Angel's Grief

_**I'm so sorry it took me do long to update. I've been working on my other story and I kind of had a feels attack... So yeah. Enjoy! ;)**_

Clary hates balls. She hates them with her entire being. She had to squeeze into the suffocating dress with no bra and now has to schlep about on Jonathon's arm playing hostess with the demon Shadowhunters. She has to resist the urge to roll her eyes each time one of the demon Shadowhunters bow to her.

Jonathon had to drag her out of the closet earlier that evening. She had refused to come out in the dress she had blindly picked. Contrary to her first glance the dress looked like a strip of cloth on her tiny frame, barely covering her chest and coming to rest just below her ankles. Even so she feels so exposed every time someone turns their attention towards her, to gawk at the suddenly appeared daughter of Valentine. Her hair billows down her shoulders like waves of fire and her stunning green eyes are outlined in kohl.

Jonathon had said this was a celebration to her joining them. Though she had only come here yesterday and not let Jonathon out of her sight since then, she wonders when he had time to plan this. She'll ask him later.

After greeting all the guests, their names blurring together in Clary's mind, Jonathon sweeps her out onto the large tiled dance floor. The orchestra in the background starts to play Johannes Brahms Waltz and Jonathon places his left hand on her waist and his right holds her hand. The slow, light music seeps into Clary's chest and fills her with a sense of peace. She looks into Jonathon's black eyes, no longer an endless pit as they had once been but a sparkling, gleaming obsidian with moonlight silver, the only indication his pupil and iris were separate. Jonathon's smile is one of pure joy and happiness, devoid of any cunning or seductiveness, just pure bliss.

His smile lights up his face in a way she's never seen before and it makes her feel light. He sweeps her around the floor in graceful motions that only he can do. The crescendo and decrescendo of the violins causes Clary's chest to tighten as Jonathon continues to smile down at her, spinning her, holding her, gripping her hip lightly and not in his usual possessive manner.

Clary feels well enough; content enough to smile brightly back at her brother. She hasn't noticed that the other Shadowhunters have cleared out of the middle to give her and Jonathon the floor to dance. They all marvel at both of their grace and beauty but Clary is fully focused on her brother and he in turn completely focused on her.

They continue to waltz long into the next song and the next, content to stare at each other. They stay this way until someone taps Jonathon politely on the shoulder. Jonathon, in an uncharacteristically good mood, turns to the intruder though his expression sours slightly at the interruption.

"May I steal your partner for a dance?" the handsome, young boy asks. He is about Jonathon's age and height. His hair is a dark shade of black, rivaling the blackest parts of the night sky. His eyes are a striking shade of gray, like a boiling storm threaded with dark streaks of darker storm clouds.

Jonathon's expression sours further but nods in consent as he reluctantly hands Clary over to the lovely boy. Jonathon stalks to the edge of the floor, now filling once again with couples and starts to talk with a couple, around her mother's age. When Clary turns back to the mystery boy he smiles gently and brings her hand to her lips. He kisses it with a smile and says, "A pleasure to meet you Ms. Morgenstern. I've heard so much about you."

"It seems everyone has and yet I have not heard a single thing about any of you," Clary says lightly as the boy's hand rests on her hip and guides her to the new waltz playing.

"Well, we'll have to fix that won't we?" He replies with a smile. "I'm Michael Verlac."

Verlac. She feels a deep flush creep up her neck. "Verlac?" she asks cautiously.

"Yeah we run the French Institute and are rarely in Alicante but I'm sure you met my brother though. Sebastian?"

He doesn't know Jonathon killed him. She tries to keep her expression calm as she knits her eyebrows in thought. "I'm sorry but I don't think I have. Is he here tonight?"

Michael's expression doesn't change. "That's right, Sebastian never made it to Alicante, Jonathon killed him." Clary would expect this to be said with menace but Michael says it as though it were ordinary that her brother had killed his.

"I'm sorry," Clary says, keeping her voice low.

"Why? Sebastian died to help Jonathon and our cause. It was a righteous death," Michael says not taking his stormy eyes off her.

He's just another mindless slave, She thinks. Another brainwashed zombie, but he has an alertness about him that says otherwise. Not like the acuteness that Amatis had but an awareness, as if he knows exactly what he's doing. Once the song ends, Michael bows and kisses her hand again, leaving to melt into the crowd of finely dressed Shadowhunters.

Clary slips out of the middle of the floor and into the softly swarming mass of people. She suddenly doesn't want to be here. She doesn't want to see her brother, doesn't want to remember all the horrible things he's done by looking into those black eyes. Before she can reach the door, someone lays their hand on her shoulder. She jumps at the abrupt contact and spins around to see Jonathon with a smile tainted by confusion.

"It's just me. No need to get jumpy," Jonathon says calmly.

"Sorry," Clary says regaining her composure. "I just needed some air."

'"Well I can help with that," Jonathon says and loops her arm through his, guiding her off to the glass doors on one side of the ballroom. The Shadowhunters already on the balconies seem to take notice that there master wanted the area privately, they quickly stepped inside, leaving Clary and Jonathon alone on the long, dark terrace.

The stars gleam brightly in the sky like brilliant splashes of white were splattered across a blue black canvas. Clary breathes in the cool night air as she watches the waves crest gently over each other. Flashes of a burnt manor sprint across her mind as she leans against the railing. Jonathon loops an arm around her waist and pulls her close to him.

"I can tell when something's wrong you know? And it's rather obvious that you're trying to hide it from me," Jonathon says, standing behind her and kissing her neck.

"Nothing's wrong Jonathon," Clary says. _Besides the fact you killed someone's brother in cold blood._

"You're a terrible liar. Don't make me force it out of you. You know I will," Jonathon says against her neck.

She knows he will and he can. He can pull every little detail from her if he wants to. Jonathon is now her weakness but she is his. She doesn't know, though, how Jonathon will react if she brings up his murders. He'll probably punish her in some way or another. It doesn't matter that she is now his angel he can still be a ruthless demon. She sighs and shakes her head slowly.

Jonathon's grip around her tightens but surprisingly not in anger. He spins her around to face him, his depthless black eyes searching her closed off, green ones.

"Clary," Jonathon's voice holds warning. She shakes her head again.

"I can't tell you Jonathon," Clary says quietly but firmly. Anger flashes across Jonathon's features but then regains his calm composure. He stands straight and walks back inside, leaving Clary to the warm night. She knows she's going to pay for that but at the moment she doesn't care. Either way he would have punished her, she decides this way is better because now Jonathon just wants information but doesn't know the content, which would surely result in a fit of anger.

Clary lets out a breath and turns back to the water. She rests her elbows on the rail and dips her head down. How did she come to this? Loving her brother. Everyone she loved died, that's what. She lets a tear slip down her face and fall towards the waves below. Just a miniscule addition to the vast planes of water, not making a difference and not big enough to cause a disturbance. She feels like that now, unimportant, small and unnoticed. She feels trivial to the whole Shadow world; no one cares about her, not really. Jonathon just wants her in body, he doesn't care for her. He just needs her to quench his demon. The Lightwoods throwing her out just shows she never really mattered to them anyway. If she did they would have understood that Jace's death wasn't her fault.

More tears fall down into the endless ocean, more minor, unimportant drops of water. She's only with her brother because she has nowhere else to go. She could go back to Luke's but there are too many painful memories there and she doesn't think she can bear the constant reminder of her lost family. How did her brother become the only one who would take her? And not even that. She looks up, staring across the water. She should leave, she needs to leave. She can go to one of the European Institutes and live there or she can go to Magnus and have him help her. He seems to be the only one who still genuinely liked her, surely after all the death she's suffered he would understand. He is immortal which means he's suffered countless deaths. She could go back to Luke's though, completely redecorate, tear out everything that reminds her of Luke or her mother.

She spins on her heel and walks back inside the crowded ballroom. Everyone is dancing and seems to be enjoying themselves. She scans the crowd looking for the telltale white blond that will undoubtedly stop her from leaving. She sees nothing so she slips along the side of the room towards the large doors standing open at the end of the room. In the hall she tries to remember the way back to the room so she can find Jonathon's stele. Halfway to the first corner she hears someone call her name and she freezes in horror, thinking that Jonathon has come to scold her and punish her but when she turns around she only sees Michael with a wide smile on his face.

"Clary," he says, "Where are you going?" He catches up to her and stands in her way of escape.

"Um, there were… too many people. I needed to get away for a moment," Clary says, hoping Michael won't catch the lie.

"You and me both. I've never really been big on crowds. But what are you doing out here in the hall? You could've gone out on the terrace." Michael's smile is sweet and innocent and Clary can't help but smile back.

"Oh, the breeze picked up and I don't really have anything covering my shoulders. What do you do for my brother anyway?" Clary asks, diverting the conversation. Michael doesn't seem to be under any influence but he has to be to forgive her brother for murdering Sebastian.

Michael perks up happily and squares his shoulders. "I'm his second in command," he says proudly.

"You must be a pretty good Shadowhunter then to be my brother's second," Clary says. Jonathon wouldn't pick just anyone to be his second. He would pick the best of the best of the best and then drill them to see who broke first.

"Third best in the world," Michael says.

"Only third?"

"Well I'm not special like you or Jonathon with your special blood. So yes third best, which is fine with me considering I'm ordinary," he says lightly.

Michael's words sting a little even if he didn't mean them to. He just reminded Clary that she is an experiment, a freak and so is Jonathon. She can't help but inwardly cringe at Michael's blunt statement. Sometimes she just wants to be ordinary but her father took that opportunity and ripped it up then burned the remains, scattering the ashes to the wind.

"Clary?"

The voice wipes her smile from her face as she hears Jonathon's footsteps down the hall. She turns to Michael and says, "It was nice talking with you."

Michael opens his mouth to reply but Clary spins around and dashes down the hall. She needs to leave and she knows Jonathon will stop her so she sprints around corners until she finds the room she originally was in. She throws open the door and quickly hurries to the closet, slipping out of her dress and into jeans and a loose shirt. She pulls on some boots and bolts back into the bedroom. She starts scouring the dressers and drawers, desperately searching for a stele. She runs back into the closet and rummages through Jonathon's clothes, searching his pockets and coats, praying he left one. She sees something gleam on the shelf next to her and she smiles in triumph. She grabs the stele and rushes back into the bedroom. Finding a blank wall, she starts drawing a portal rune.

She hears the door slam open just as she comes to the last line but doesn't finish as she is wrenched around and slammed against the wall. She hisses in pain as Jonathon grasps her wrist so hard she drops the stele. Jonathon presses his body into hers, pinning her against the cold wall.

"What are you doing?" Jonathon hisses.

"I'm leaving, Jonathon. I can't stay here," Clary says turning her face towards the wall.

"What do you mean?" Jonathon's voice immediately softens but his grip doesn't.

"I can't live with a murderer who only wants me for sex. I can't stay with someone who was my last desperate option after my entire family died and my friends left. I can't live with someone who doesn't love me," Clary says her voice starting to hitch then breaking down into agonized tears.

Jonathon immediately loosens his grip and Clary falls into him. He pulls her against him as sobs rack her body. "Clary that's not true. I do love you; I love you with all my heart and mind. Don't you dare think that I don't love you; I would raise hell and move heaven for you. I'm your family Clary and there is no way I'm letting you go again. I will never turn my back on you the way everyone else has done."

Jonathon tilts Clary's chin up with the side of his finger. "Can you please look at me?" Jonathon asks. Clary's eyes are squeezed shut but she reluctantly opens them to see Jonathon smiling at her sadly and it nearly breaks her heart. He's only ever vulnerable around her. Jonathon kisses her, long and sweetly, drawing at her lip and tangling his hands in her hair. "You are an angel. Forever and always my angel," Jonathon whispers against her lips.

"Jonathon, I can't. Not after everyone…" her voice catches, "I can't afford to love anyone else, they all seem to disappear like vapor," Clary says, tears still streaming down her face.

Jonathon takes her hands in his and presses them to his cheeks, his strong hands over her small ones. "Do I look like vapor to you?" Jonathon asks quietly. Clary shakes her head. "That's right because I am _never _leaving you and I am _never_ letting you go." Jonathon presses another soft kiss to her lips, letting his mouth linger on hers as Jonathon drops Clary's hand and he moves his to her hips, pressing her lower half flush with his. Clary can feel Jonathon's want through his pants but she pulls away and turns her head away.

"How do I know you're not lying?" she says casting her eyes down towards the floor. She crosses her arms across her chest and hunches her shoulders, trying to withdraw from her brother but his grip holds fast.

"You don't but you're just going to have to trust me."

Thanks for the assurance. Jonathon holds Clary until her tears soak his shirt and she relented to putting her arms around him, returning his embrace. She buries her face in his chest and listens to his strong heartbeat, reverberating in his rib cage. Clary feels broken, shattered. She had her life ripped away from her not once but twice. Now the once chunks of her life are tiny granules that slip through her fingertips and she can't put them back together. She's not sure if anyone can put them back together, they are so thoroughly shredded.

"Do I have to go back?" Clary asks after a long silence.

"Go where?" Jonathon replies, confused.

"To that stupid ball," Clary mutters.

Jonathon chuckles and says, "No, you don't. It's just about over anyway. I'll go kick them out." Jonathon sets Clary down and walks out the door. Clary sits down on the large bed and places her head in her hands. What is she going to do? She's broken, shattered, unfixable. The grief she let slam down on her this morning now grips at her throat, threatening to choke her. What if Jace's death is her fault? She could have gotten to Jonathon if she had tried with the sword, then she wouldn't be here. She would still be living in the Institute with Jace but Simon and her mother and Luke would still be dead. Wouldn't Jace help make up for that grief though? Isn't Jonathon though? He seems to care about her so much. She can see it in the endless stretches of his black eyes but he was raised to display fake emotions, raised to deceive. Jonathon could be lying when he said he cares; he might just want her for her body.

The look in his eyes though, you can't fake something like that, you can't fake love. Can you?

Jonathon comes back in and sees his little sister bent over with her face in her hands. He knits his brow and walks over to kneel in front of her. He removes her hands from her face and gently kisses her. He knows he needs to distract her because if he doesn't her grief will crush her. Clary reluctantly returns his kiss and Jonathon keeps hold of her wrists until he releases them to run his hands along her sides, hiking up her shirt. Clary lets her hands wander up to his neck and tangle themselves in his hair. Jonathon slips Clary shirt off over her head, breaking the kiss for a moment before he moves to her neck and sucks, drawing at the sensitive skin there.

Clary's hands work down from Jonathon's hair to his tuxedo coat. She works it off his shoulders and he pulls the sleeves off before moving down to Clary's jeans. He makes quick work of them as he slides them off her legs and moves back up to her mouth. He places one kiss at her mouth and another on her jaw then moves to her ear. He nips at the cusp as he slowly leans Clary back on the bed. Clary lies on the soft comforter watching Jonathon with a somber look as he sheds his shirt and tie then his slacks, leaving him in his black boxers.

Jonathon is being gentle, more so than he first was and Clary knows he is doing it on purpose. She doesn't know why but it's for a reason because she can feel his demon raging just beneath his skin, demanding to be let out to ravish her. Jonathon leans over her and dips his hands behind her back to unclasp her bra then travels down her back to her rear and slides off her panties. He pulls down his own boxers and lowers himself over her. None of this seems hurried at all; Jonathon is taking his sweet time.

His hand slips down in between them and rubs her sweet spot in slow, meticulous circles while Jonathon kisses her sweetly. Clary moans against his mouth and Jonathon rubs harder. She arches her body into his as he draws his fingers away from her sweet spot and slips into her entrance. He slides them in and out leisurely, eliciting a whimper of pleasure from Clary. Wasn't she upset just a moment ago? She was, she was grieving over her family. She knows now why Jonathon is being so sweet and gentle and slow, he's trying to distract her. Turn her attention away from her grief. For the moment she lets him, he draws his fingers out and thrusts himself into her. Their hips press together as Jonathon continues at a mild, sweet pace.

They continue like that for hours, Jonathon going so slow it takes hours for them both to reach their highs and even then he continues his ministrations. He thoroughly and successfully scatters her every thought and only leaves her himself. The wild, white blond who can completely scramble her every thought and emotion. Eventually Jonathon stops and lays Clary under the covers, next to him. He slips an arm around her waist as she lays her head on his bare chest. She falls asleep curled against her brother's chest thinking about the subdued grief that is sure to greet her in the morning.


	3. Remembering and Condemning

_**Okay guys, I freaking FINALLY finished this chapter. I'm so glad I wrote it too. Anyway, I'll be working on this story and revising my other one, if you haven't read it it's another Jonathan and Clary fic that you should check out. ANyway enjoy the chapter. I certainly did. *wink *wink *nod *nod ;)**_

The light bleeding in through the curtains leaks into Clary's vision, waking her from sleep, from the dream of dark, endless night, running from something endlessly chasing her. She opens her eyes to the gray paint of an unfamiliar room and the high window letting in slivers of red dawn light. Where is she? Her eyes wander around the walls, plain and unremarkable. The curtains on the window, looking out at the sunrise over an ocean, are black. She doesn't live near an ocean, she lives in New York. New York is inland, the only water feature the dirty Hudson River. She frowns at the wall and stretches under the plush, warm comforter wrapped around her. She looks down at herself, running a hand over her tender, aching skin. Naked, why is she naked? She doesn't sleep naked. Why does her pelvis ache?

She rolls over and brushes against a rock hard wall of flesh. A naked body, warm and firm, breathes softly, her brother. Why can't she remember how she got here? Why is she not screaming in terror and horror at being in bed with her brother? Why is he naked also? And in the same bed with an arm draped around her waist?

He took her in because… the Lightwoods kicked her out. Why did the Lightwoods kick her out? Jace died. She chokes on her breath. All the memories smack into her with the weight of a freight train. Jonathan had made her forget with his lingering touch and pulsing skin. He is her refuge because her parents died, Jace died and she was rejected. By her own kind and they threw her out on the streets. They blamed her for Jace's death… because it was her fault.

She's sobbing now, her eyes darting across the ceiling, searching for something that can consolidate her. Nothing does, until she can feel a warm hand running down her side, pulling her shaking body into another, solid one. A hot kiss is placed on her neck then her jaw then her cheek. She pulls away from the kiss, it's too soft for the sharp, digging edges of her grief and it won't help. But the arms just pull her closer—despite her struggles. The strong, warm arms lock around her waist, holding her in place. Finally the heat reaches her mouth and envelops hers, partially subsuming her grief. The grief hits her as if it's fresh, that it just happened but tenfold. Instead of each event happening in steady progression they bombard her all at once.

She remembers the horror she felt when she walked into the Institute to find Izzy bent over a table with a white cloth draped over it. The feel of her burning gaze as she turned on Clary and screamed at her to get out, to never come back, it's her fault. The screams of Alec, after she had left, knowing that she would get him killed one day. The grief stricken face of Maryse, yelling for her to never come back.

She remembers the Enclave member showing up at her doorstep of Luke's house. Somber faced and pitiful as he delivered the two bodies. The crushing realization that her entire family is gone. That she only had Simon. The flames reaching high into the Idrian sky when she burned her mother and Luke's bodies, burying their ashes in the Greymark crypt.

She remembers Raphael dumping Simon's dead body in front of her then bolting off into the night like the pale faced coward he was. The lifelessness of Simon's eyes as she closed them for the last time. The heat of his pyre, the stinging grief as she had to burn her closest friend. The feel of Raphael crumbling to dust as she dragged his weak, staked but still undead body into the morning light, bit by bit and watched him burn. She remembers his pleas and apologies.

"Apologies won't bring Simon back you undead, heartless bastard," was her only response to his plea.

Her eyes are shut tightly as the hot lips press against hers and a body straddles above her, radiating heat. Hands trail down her body and caress her core, turning her sobs into reluctant moans, interspersed with the occasional whimper or cry. She grips the sheets, trying to control the raging pain inside her chest. Why is he doing this? Why can't her brother leave her to die in the pain and loss? Jonathan's mouth moves to suck at her neck and she can't help but moan as his teeth graze her skin and his tongue trails along her pulse, his fingers methodic and infuriatingly distracting.

She manages to press her hands against his chest but fails in trying to push him away and the cries eventually fade completely. Her grief smothered by Jonathan's lips and hands, replaced with lust. Jonathan finally pulls back and brushes a lock of hair from her face.

"I'm not going to allow my sister to drown in grief. Do you understand me?"

Clary sucks in a breath and nods. Jonathan's eyes sparkle as he draws away but kisses her once more before pulling her off the bed and setting her down on the carpeted floor. He grabs a blanket off the bed and wraps it around her shoulders. Clary pulls the blanket tightly around herself and she sits back down on the bed, staring blankly at the floor.

"I'm going to go shower. We have a meeting in an hour that we both need to attend. In the meantime, care to join me in the bathroom?" Jonathan extends his hand to Clary and she takes it numbly. He pulls her up and gently guides her to the bathroom. Taking both her hands he walks backward, drawing her with him. The blanket falls away as Jonathan leads her into the bathroom.

Clary feels numb and dull, her chest aching but Jonathan nudges her into the shower, following behind her and turning the water on. The cold water hits Clary's back and makes her gasp, arching away from the cold and into Jonathan who wraps his arms around her waist, pulling her into the warmth of his body.

The cold had shocked some of her dullness away and now she pulls away from Jonathan, stepping back under the now hot water. It burns against her skin and she relishes in the scalding water, wanting it to burn away her memories. She leans her face back into the stream and lets the water flow down her body while she tries to let the grief and the pain run away with the water. Eyes closed, hands in her hair, she feels Jonathan's hands slide down her waist and his body press against hers.

"We're taking a shower Jon," Clary says tiredly, not opening her eyes.

"Yes, but that pertains to many things that can be done _in_ the shower," he whispers next to her ear.

Clary sighs, bringing her hands down from her hair and resting them on Jonathan's chest. "Just a shower please."

Jonathan groans in protest but removes his hands from her hips and Clary finishes scrubbing her hair and body. Stepping out she wraps a fluffy white towel around her chest. Looking in the mirror Clary sees dark hollows under her eyes and her eyes are painful to look at for too long, grief and torture swimming around in the irises. She scoffs at herself, she shouldn't be this weak. Her family is dead, she's grieved, get over it.

She throws her shoulders back, she has Jonathan now, he said he won't leave and she is going to have to trust that. He is all she has now.

Out in the bedroom, dressed and glowing with a new resolve, Clary grins as Jonathan walks out of the closet and she sees the glint of mischief in his black eyes. He smirks and takes her hand, leading her out the door, down the hall and into a large room with a long, sleek black table seated with dozens of Shadowhunters. All conversation stops and they all look up and focus their sharp eyes on Jonathan and his sister. Once these demon shadowhunters would have scared her but now she stands tall and glares back at a good amount of them. Some even shrink back under her gaze and she finds herself smirking as Jonathan pulls her to the front of the sleek table.

"Gentlemen," Jonathan says in a cool, even voice that echoes around the room. It strangely reminds Clary of Valentine, how his voice used to carry around the room and draw the attention of all its occupants. Clary stands next to Jonathan at the head of the table as all the eyes turn towards them. "I'm glad you made it. Let us talk of how we will win this war." Jonathan lets a confident smirk play across his face as he moves to sit in the padded chair behind him, drawing Clary down into the one next to him.

In the next few hours, Clary feels invisible. The demon shadowhunters all step forward and present where their units are stationed and what Institutes can easily be taken down. Jonathan talks strategy and battle plans, who he thinks will be the hardest to take down but from what Clary gathers he's been able to gain at least four hundred more followers and has had them drink Infernal Cup from the time she and Jace escaped. She shrinks back a bit, an old habit, an old self saying this is wrong. She shouldn't be sitting in on a meeting with people that are planning to kill her friends but then another darker voice comes in whispering that they were never her friends, that part of this world never accepted her. They kicked her out when she needed them and they deserved what was coming to them.

She settles back into her chair, brooding over whether or not she should listen to that dark voice while Jonathan stands at the table over a few maps and other papers with sloppy messages scrawled across the random pages. Some of the paper looks like old papyrus and others look like stark white printing paper.

She watches Jonathan's profile as he maps out an attack on the Paris Institute, one of the largest Institutes that would be able to provide assistance to Alicante when the demon shadowhunters attack. The light from the ceiling, soft and warm, catches Jonathan's high cheekbones, making his handsome face sharper and more complex and somehow primal, like a demon waiting to be released, thirsting for bloodshed. She needs to control that, one of her duties as his angel, his sister. She needs to help him control his monster, she saw flashes of it her first night here and she could tell Jonathan was barely able to control it, refrain it from having its way with her.

The sun filtering in from the window glints off of Jonathan's platinum blond hair, turning it silver in places. Clary can't hear him, the ringing of her own thoughts drowning out the boring war plans. How did she not notice how handsome her brother is, maybe it's because she was blinded by her hatred for him and Valentine. For him taking Jace and turning him into a slave, for killing Max, for manipulating her, for kissing her while keeping his real identity from her, for not staying dead… She cuts those thoughts short.

She can't think like that if she's going to be living with him, sharing a bed. Maybe she shouldn't have taken it so fast. She shouldn't have shared his bed, among other things. She never forgave Jonathan, just forgot. She starts to wonder if there is an extra bedroom that she can sneak off to at night.

"Clarissa," Jonathan's sharp voice pierces her thoughts. For a moment she's afraid he knows what she was thinking and is angry with her but when she looks into his face all she sees is the business façade he's been wearing this entire meeting. He reaches a hand toward her and she takes it, pulling herself out of the chair to stand by Jonathan's side, looking down at a map of the New York Institute and the surrounding land. "What do you think?"

Clary looks up at Jonathan's almost bored face, confusion touching her face. "About what?" She asks and is surprised at how small her voice is. She frowns.

A small smile plays across her brother's lips. "Have you not been listening little sister? What do you think about taking down the New York Institute along with the other major ones?"

The New York Institute. The home of the Lightwoods, Jace's old home. What would he think of her if she encouraged the destruction of Jace's only real home? The place where they shared their first kiss. The refuge they both returned to after the ordeal in Valentine's apartment. It's also the place he died, the home Clary thought she could call her own but was inevitably kicked out by those she called family. Jace is gone, he's never coming back. His family had rejected her.

"Take it down," Clary says; anger, pain and sorrow lace her words as she glares at the map, imagining the Lightwoods going about their day like Clary had never set foot in the Institute. Jonathan's arm settles around her waist, breaking the grim images away with his reassuring warmth, reminding her that she isn't alone. She leans into him, solid, unyielding, strong.

"Great idea, little sister," Jonathan says, tightening his grip. The next few hours pass in a hatred fueled blur. Anger blinding Clary to the people she's helping doom. She knows most don't deserve it but from what she can glean from the rest of the demon shadowhunters, they don't plan on killing a lot of shadowhunters, just forcing them into surrender. Of course there are going to be casualties, this is a war but Clary can't help the twinge of guilt flickering in the back of her mind as Jonathan and she exit the now empty conference room many hours later.

The sun had long since gone down, leaving the mansion in darkness, not even the witchlight torches lit. Only moonlight seeps in through unseen windows, casting Jonathan's face in a sliver-blue light, reminding her of regal fey, enchanting, mischievous, beautiful. His fingers are laced in her own as he leads her down the dark halls. Her mind races with the war preparations made only a few minutes ago, keeping her voice muted in awe at what she has done. Jonathan passes the bedrooms and leads her back to the kitchen Clary first raided, only a few candles on the countertop lit, providing soft glow around the counter. The silver light glints off the ocean across the balcony, casting moving watery reflections on the ceiling.

Jonathan continues to guide her out onto the balcony where the table sits between the two lounge chairs, laden with two plates of elbow pasta and chicken with white sauce. Clary's stomach growls, now realizing just how hungry she is. The cool ocean breeze blows across Clary's face, carrying the smell of salt and the sound of the waves gently cresting on the shore below. She sits in one of the lounge chairs, drawing her legs up and watches as Jonathan settles across from her.

He nods down at her plate. "You need to eat, you haven't eaten since yesterday," he says gently, as if he doesn't want to break the beautiful silence of the beach.

"You haven't either," she whispers but picks up a fork and a starts eating. The pasta tastes so good on her tongue and she has to resist the urge to close her eyes and savor the taste. She's aware of Jonathan's eyes watching her as he eats his own meal. After finishing, she sets her fork down and lies back on the lounge chair, facing the ocean and closes her eyes. It's probably past midnight and she has been up since before dawn.

"Do you think you can handle it?" Jonathan says quietly from his lounge chair. Clary frowns and opens her eyes, curious what Jonathan means and turns to him. He's staring out at the ocean, his face an unreadable mask.

"What do you mean?" Clary asks turning back to the ocean, watching it glisten and a hump break the still surface, spraying a tower of water in the air. So they're on the coast of one of the oceans. That narrows it down, Clary thinks rolling her eyes.

"Are you going to be able to go to war with your former friends?" He asks, threading his fingers with hers that dangle off the side of the chair. It's warm and comforting; he runs his thumb in circles over her knuckles in an idle motion but he holds her holds her hand with the reverence of novelty. He hasn't had any affection before in his entire life because of Valentine and he's still getting used to Clary's presence next to his.

Is she going to be able to war with her old family? She thought she knew, she would, they stopped being her family the moment Jace died and that's not going to change but they're still Jace's family, the only reminder of him she has no matter how painful and bitter they are. Clary scowls, can she go to war with them? She stays silent, not sure how to answer. Jonathan doesn't press, just continues drawing idle circles over her knuckles.

She closes her eyes, listening to the rolling waves, breathing in the salt drifting on the air. The Lightwoods were Jace's family, but wasn't she also? By being Jace's family she was in turn the Lightwoods'. They hate her now, they threw her out. Why would they throw her out? They were her closest friends aside from Simon. She and Isabelle were even planning on becoming _parabatai, _two souls bound for life, yet she was discarded like an overused rag.

"Clarissa," Jonathan's sharp voice cuts through her painful thoughts, her eyes snap open and she finds her vision blurred. She uses the back of her hand to wipe the tears from her eyes. Her eyes wander over to Jonathan. "Can I have the use of my hand back or are you trying to break the bones?" He gives a faint smirk as Clary jerks her hand away, unaware that she was gripping Jonathan's hand tightly enough to cut off circulation.

"Sorry," she mutters, turning away again.

She hears Jonathan sigh and his soft footfall before he swings his leg over her and settles on the long part of the lounge chair, facing her with a small smile. He takes her hands in his and pulls her to him. "There's nothing to be sorry for little sister," he whispers into her hair, brushing aside stray curls. Clary melts into Jonathan, her arms find their way around Jonathan's torso and she scoots into his lap, trying to sweep away angry thoughts that will only confuse her.

She buries her head in Jonathan's shirt, breathing in his smell of spices and what she once thought as evil but now it's unique, it smells like her brother. She closes her eyes and lets his presence wash over her.

"Come on," Jonathan whispers. Standing up and drawing Clary with him, he leads them to a staircase at the edge of the balcony that Clary hadn't seen before and starts to descend the polished wood stairs. She stumbles after him, down the stairs until her feet sink into the soft, warm sand lining the beach.

Jonathan releases her hand and pulls off his boots, rolling up his pants to his knees. In this moment Jonathan reminds her of a handsome, carefree boy, ready to splash in the waves with his girlfriend. He gives her a faint smile.

"Take off your boots," he says, nodding at her feet. Without a word she slips off her boots and socks, letting her toes sift in the sand. She rolls up her pants also and takes Jonathan's outstretched hand. He draws them to the edge of the shore, letting the cool water wrap around their ankles.

"What are you doing?" Clary asks. She knows what he's doing but she doesn't quite understand why. Jonathan draws them farther into the waves, now cresting over their shins. He pulls her close to him and lowers his mouth to brush her neck. A pleasant shudder runs across her skin.

"Peace and quiet." Jonathan's breath fans her skin. "Only the peace and quiet little sister. I'm taking advantage of while I can, using it to try and please my sister." His hot lips press against her skin, pressing a kiss beneath her jaw then another on her cheek. Clary closes her eyes, letting the sound of the waves, the feel of the sand between her toes and Jonathan's soft lips moving toward her mouth engulf her in a sense of serenity. She can feel herself sway back and forth, ghosting with the wind and the cool night air brushing her skin.

As Jonathan covers her mouth with his own she can't remember what she was thinking about. She knows it was grim and painful for she can still feel the ache in her chest but she can't remember the exact reason. Jonathan releases her hands, which she wraps around his torso, as his hands move to the hem of her shirt. He breaks the kiss, his hands sliding up her sides, bringing her shirt with them until his hands brush over her bra, pushing the straps down her shoulders and finally pulling the shirt over her head all in one smooth motion. He manages to toss the piece of fabric far enough up the shore that it won't get carried away on the waves. He quickly pulls off his own shirt and brings Clary close for another kiss. Her hands slide over his hard torso, now sprayed with water mist and a smile touches her lips under Jonathan's. This feels right, peaceful and soft. Her brother is the one she is supposed to be with, Jace had felt good, kissing her, being with her, but she had never felt like this: whole.

She presses herself closer to Jonathan, who quickly unbuttons her jeans and she breaks the kiss to pull them off while Jonathan strips down to his boxers. Bending over Clary watches the soft waves, flowing inches from her face and a mischievous smile crosses her face as she dips her hands in the water, cupping the water in her palms. She looks back to see Jonathan's knowing smirk, well aware of what she's about to do and his eyes challenge her, daring her to do it. She smiles back and quickly straightens, flinging the water at Jonathan. He dodges the water and dips down to scoop a huge wave of cool ocean water towards her. She jumps aside, but some of the wave splashes onto her thigh. She kicks water at Jonathan and it splashes him in the face. He chuckles and flings water back, both of them spraying each other with the salty water, until Clary is shrieking with laughter and Jonathan has a grin plastered on his moonlit face.

Clary moves farther out into the waves and Jonathan follows until the water is too deep for Clary to move fast enough and Jonathan's arms encircle her waist, drawing her back against his wet body. He kisses her cheek, laughing along with her. They're about waist deep in the black, glistening ocean and Clary feels something brush along her leg. She shrieks, jumping out of the water into Jonathan's waiting arms. He's still smirking as he nuzzles her neck, kissing her pulse. Realization dawns and she smacks his chest.

"That wasn't funny Jon," Clary says. Jonathan had brushed his leg against hers.

"It got you where I wanted though," he says, drawing closer to her lips and kissing her. She loops her arms around his neck, pulling him closer, reveling in his heat, so hot she feels it might evaporate the water dappling her skin. She pulls her hands back down and cups his face, feeling his sharp cheekbones under her thumbs. He scoops her out of the water and holds her close.

He carries her back to shore, not breaking the kiss, and mounts the stairs, climbing them up to the balcony, completely disregarding the clothes still lying in the sand. He steps through the sliding glass doors, being left open and strides through the kitchen to the bedroom. He pulls away and trails open mouthed kisses down her neck and chest, she lays her hands on his muscled shoulders. She leans her head back, savoring his mouth on her, working her tender skin. He kicks open their bedroom door and, still dripping wet, sets her down, falls back on the bed and drags her down on top of him. She can feel herself stretch out along Jonathan's rigid body, soon melting and becoming pliant against her seeking hands. His hands skim over her sides, barely touching her until his fingers find her bra clasp and unhook the two sides sliding the bra off her arms and discarding it on the floor.

In the space of a second he's flipped them over, pulled down his boxers, her panties and brought his consuming lips to hers. Then he's in her and she's floating in the beautiful bliss her brother has brought her. He moves slowly, gradually quickening his pace when Clary starts to moan. She digs her fingers into his back, spurring him on as his hands grope her hips and chest, wandering over her body, exploring every part and with each movement claiming it as his own. Clary can't remember if she ever felt so good. Jace and she had only gotten each other down to their underwear, despite the heavenly fire. They had become desperate for each other's touch but that touch had only lasted a few minutes before the fire burned her skin. Then before, before Jonathan was brought back, they had not gone any farther. Jace had gone as far as a hand in her pants and that had felt good but now pales in comparison to what Jonathan is doing, twisting and manipulating her body to his will, laying claim to every part of her. Something in the back of her mind begs for him to claim her, just as he is doing, begs to have a place where she can belong. She pulls Jonathan closer, afraid he'll disappear and she'll lose her place.

Soon he pulls her under the covers but she faces away from her brother, his hot breath on her back, he still buried deep inside her and he continues his ministrations, hands sliding over her shoulders and back, mouth hot and unrelenting on her neck, trailing down her shoulder blades. Every thrust makes her body arch away and Jonathan arches with her, fitting his body to hers and each thrust draws a new moan from her lips; she can hear Jonathan groan as she shifts her hips against him. She pants in between moans as Jonathan continues slowly pushing his hips up, thrusting deeper into her. Jonathan holds her delicately and fiercely at the same time. Also with a raging confidence and triumph, hovering beneath his skin, knowing he's in control, knowing he's won her over, that she is now in the palm of his hand, knowing that, right now, she's at her weakest and can do anything he pleases to her. One of his hands slides over her hip, traveling down her pelvis and seeking her sweet spot, rubbing it to add to the deep, delicious ache she can feel building between her legs, his long pulsing skin throbbing inside her only adding to the ache. Soon she's gasping for breath, her chest tight with pleasure as Jonathan's hands continue to trail her body, both of them moving at a slow sensual rhythm, somehow it only adds to her pleasure, the sweet, slow movements letting more love and pleasure and feeling seep into her. She has to bury her face in the pillows before she cries out from the anticipation, the ache persistent and not finding relief, her ache building in pressure until she can barely contain herself, she digs her nails into Jonathan's arm that has snaked its way to her chest, he groans. Jonathan turns her around once more, pressing against her desperately, moving his body fluidly against hers, drawing her close for a kiss, making everything up their bodies touch, raising her own body heat. His hips don't stop moving and finally she's thrown over the edge, moaning deeply into his mouth. She draws away, panting. Her relief is so great, the pleasure and euphoria so unbelievable that she bucks her hips into her brother, sending him into his high. Jonathan's orgasm this time is quiet and he lets out dark, satisfied sigh, keeping himself sheathed inside her, pushing impossibly deeper and causing her to scream. Jonathan continues to stay inside of her, moving ever so slightly, causing her to pant and moan, wanting more. She can feel herself staring to ache with the familiar beginnings of an orgasm once again. Jonathan doesn't stop either, moaning into her with a deep animalistic sigh that only causes a dark ache to burst in her chest and she presses impossibly closer. She locks her arms around his neck and their tongues fight for dominance. Jonathan bites her lower lip and causes Clary to buck against him; he retaliates by rolling over and straddling her shuddering body. He pulls back and looks down at her, eyes blazing, heart racing, panting heavily then dips his head and draws the skin of her neck in between his teeth, moving his lower body against her, drawing out a low, lustful moan. She can feel a welt rise up where Jonathan's mouth had been and smiles weakly, barely holding herself together as the ache intensifies. The orgasmic sensation of Jonathan inside her is addicting and she jerks her hips up to snap with his as his mouth comes down on hers, shortly, sweetly before turning her again. They both lay on their sides, Clary cradled against Jonathan as he stretches his fingers along her throat, gently trailing them down as his hips rise and fall against her. Her breathing grows more labored as Jonathan's arms wrap around her and hold her tightly, still moving his lower half, grating against her back. Clary can't move in his iron grip as she rides out her second pleasure burst, letting it wash over her in a great wave, braced against Jonathan. Her body shudders and Jonathan buries his face in her neck, groaning his high into her skin.

Clary collapses against her brother, still held tightly in his embrace, sucking down air into her tight chest. That felt euphoric, both of them. Clary's core aches and throbs as Jonathan finally pulls out and keeps his face buried against her shoulder. He kisses her skin, trying to draw breath in between, and keeps her locked against him.

"No more," Clary gasps, panting erratically. "I can't take anymore," she whispers, slowly shaking her head and keeping her eyes shut. She can feel Jonathan smile against her.

"I didn't expect you to last that long," he whispers, drawing small circles on her hip.

"I didn't expect you to go that long," she replies, pressing her back into her brother's abdomen. She really hadn't, Jonathan hadn't made her have two orgasms consecutively. She felt as though she might have burst, crushed under wave after wave of powerful emotions, strong enough to drown her, enough that the left overs, churning in her core, stomach and chest are powerful enough to make her throb.

"How could I not when you wave yourself in front of me, taunting me?" Jonathan asks, breathing normally now, running a hand down the outside of her thigh and trailing back up along the inside. Even the mere touch of Jonathan's fingers, nearing her core are enough to make her jolt and gasp, in between her legs, throbbing, sensitive and sticky.

He makes a deep noise in his throat at her reaction, easing her back onto the bed, moving to straddle her hips and caressing her cheeks, trailing his fingers along her jaw before gripping it, turning her face towards his and kissing her. Her hands stretch up to tangle in his hair, pulling him closer. After what seems like hours, he finally rolls off her and settles on the bed beside her, keeping his arm looped around her waist possessively. He kisses her cheek one last time, whispering, "Goodnight," before closing his eyes and slipping into to sleep, his face turned towards her on the pillow.

Despite glancing at the clock on the table next to the bed and seeing the green light blinking 4:17 a.m. her eyes stay open, reliving the night. The meal, the waves, the kiss, the sex. By the angel, there is no way to describe what he had done to her. She shifts her legs and finds them sticky and wet. Looking over at her brother she finds his breath slow and even, asleep. She thinks a shower might help put her to sleep so she tries to slip Jonathan's grasp, but it stays iron tight, even in sleep, his possessiveness from earlier bleeding into his unconscious body. She sighs, maybe not. Though she could try to loosen his grip. She runs a soft hand over his fingers on her waist, trying to sneak it between his hand and her skin. Finding no result, she turns to face her brother, his face still and peaceful. She touches her lips, feather light, to his and she hears a soft sigh escape his lips, his grip loosening just enough for her to slip from his grasp.

She pads over to the bathroom, pushing open the door and turning to make sure Jonathan still sleeps in the bed. Finding him undisturbed, she shuts the door and turns on the soft, solitary light beside the shower instead of the multiple overhead ones. She moves to the shower, but hesitates, torn between soaking in a nice bath or taking a hot shower. She can feel slight exhaustion tinge her muscles and decides for the quicker shower.

She turns on the shower and steps under the already steaming flow of water. She washes her hair, pins it up and gets to work on her tender body. She carefully scrubs the bruises forming on her hips and upper arms, then runs her hands with the soap between her legs and gasps, finding it still hyper sensitive. She finishes showering and dries herself off. She throws on one of Jonathan's shirts and some shorts, then wanders back to the kitchen out the sliding glass doors and down the steps to find their discarded clothes half soaked in the high tide. She picks them up, climbs the steps and drapes them on the railing. She steps back inside and locks the glass door, shuffling back to their room, finally feeling exhaustion pull at her eyes and muscles hard enough that it is difficult to stay awake.

She falls into bed, completely ignorant to Jonathan, who jolts as she collapses. Jonathan sighs and pulls the covers over her, drawing her closer until she can bury her face in his chest, savoring his heat, she falls asleep. The thoughts that Jonathan had tossed from her head earlier that night sweeping in to haunt her dreams.

The streets of New York are scarce of people this morning, all at work or at school; the occasional tourist flashing pictures and smiles of the Empire State Building from afar or the pollution clogged Hudson River. The sun half hidden behind clouds tries to break through the gray over cast sky.

Clary ignores the bustling tourists and continues on her way to the Institute with lunch from Taki's. She strides down the street unnoticed, her thoughts drifting back to a few days ago, the memory of the dream fleeting but still odd enough to warrant a reflection. The dream was Sebastian standing across the street from her, smirking with his arms folded across his chest. She had marched up to him and slapped him, though the smirk never wavered. He had taken her by the arms and stared at her with a cruel glint in his black eyes. He had uttered three words to her.

"He's almost gone." Then Sebastian had disappeared.

Clary shakes off the dream, discarding it as nervous paranoia and continues up the Institute steps, pushing open the door and walks down the aisle to the elevator. Everything seems quiet, like the room itself is holding its breath. Clary frowns, stepping into the elevator with the ding and rides it up to the main level.

The doors open and she sees no one, no bustling Silent Brothers, no Lightwoods, no Jace. She hears a quiet sob from down the hall, in the direction of the infirmary and she heads down the hallway. The sobbing gets louder as she nears the infirmary doors, shut. Fear grips her throat, why would someone be crying? Unless something happened to Jace. Clary drops the bag of food and races to the doors shoving them open, fear and adrenaline coursing through her blood as her eyes settle on the one, once occupied bed.

A white sheet had been laid over a still form. Clary shakes her head. No, no, that can't be him. Her eyes drift from the still form to the person kneeling by the bedside, the one sobbing. Isabelle, crouching by the bedside, sobbing into the sheet, posture rigid and shaking, hands fisted in the sheet as if she could pull it back and he would still be alive. Tears refuse to surface, shock and heartbreak warring for her attention.

She lets out a strangled gasp and Isabelle's piercing brown eyes snap up and zero in on her, burning with hatred. Clary takes a step back at the intensity of her friend's gaze, confused why there would be hate in those usually kind, fierce brown eyes. She stands from the bed and points an accusatory finger at her.

"Get out!" Isabelle screams. "You did this get out!"

Clary shakes her head, bewildered, her gaze locked onto the still form under the blanket, hoping desperately that he'll throw back the white sheet and smile at her with his warm golden eyes and say it was a joke. Hoping that he'll get up and take her hand one last time, hoping to feel him against her one last time, hoping to kiss him one last time, hoping to at least say goodbye but the white sheet lay like death over the body and her heart.

"Izzy," Clary's voice cracks. "I… I don't understand. I was just getting lunch. I was only gone for a minute."

"Get out!" she screams again. "You have killed him! You had to stab _him._ He is dead because of you!"

"Izzy, I had no choice," Clary holds out her hands, pleading with her friend. "He was coming after me. I… I couldn't get to Sebastian. I'm sorry, I couldn't reach Sebastian," her voice comes out barely a whisper. She feels another presence behind her. Alec brushes past her and rushes up to his sister, wrapping her in an embrace, not facing her.

"You could've tried! You could've tried to get to that bastard but you were lazy and you risked Jace's life instead!" Isabelle is thrashing in her brother's grip.

"I tried Isabelle!" Clary shouts. "I didn't want this! I loved him! He was everything to me, I sacrificed myself to find him and help him. Without me you would've lost him forever to Sebastian!" Clary's body shakes.

"He is gone! Don't you see?" Isabelle points toward the form under the sheet. "He's gone forever! And it's your fault!"

Clary gives up trying to talk to Isabelle and turns to Alec who still holds his trembling sister. "Alec please. You have to understand, I had no other choice. It was the only way to save him. Please," she whispers meekly. "I loved him; I never wanted to kill him."

Alec doesn't look at her and she draws in a sharp breath. "Just go Clary. You need to leave," he says quietly.

Clary lets out a breath, lets out a single tear as she turns on her heel and races down the hall. Punching the elevator button, wanting desperately to go curl up somewhere and die, so she can meet Jace in the beyond, she holds back the heartbroken tears. She doesn't want to be alone, not without him. He can't be gone. He was such a steady, constant presence that he can't be here one moment and gone forever the next.

She runs down the aisle of pews and into the streets of New York, now the emptiness seems fitting, anything crowded would feel alien now her love is gone. She races away down the streets, heading towards Luke's, completely unaware of the platinum blond watching her from one of the side streets.

Clary's eyes shoot open with a gasp, the blackness around her still completely impenetrable. Clary's hand settles on the arm resting around her torso, the one tightening and pulling her close. It was just a dream; she runs her hand over the bed to a familiar, lean body. It was just a dream, Jace is right here with her but she turns her head, expecting to see gold only to find platinum blond.

Despair crushes her once again. Not a dream, a memory, one that she had chosen to bury deep, too painful and horrific to relive more than once. She curls into her brother who is now awake and cradles her against his chest after glimpsing at the clock, seeing only 5:00 a.m. She shuts out the tears and despair, wanting desperately to go back to sleep, a dreamless sleep, preferably. Jonathan brushes down her curls, whispering nothings in her ear, trying to calm her, keeping her close.

She wants to die all over again, the guilt, the grief, the anger contained in that memory will kill her if she keeps having nightmares like these, reliving old, painful memories. Finally her rigid body gives up its stiffness, going slack against her brother and wrapping her arms around him, nuzzling her face in his chest, she shuts out the world. Her body utterly exhausted now, from yesterday, from Jonathan, what he did not long ago, melts into the handsome boy holding her. He doesn't object to Clary curling against him and just settles back in the bed, keeping Clary tight against his body. As soon as Jonathan gets comfortable, Clary slides back in to a much needed sleep.


	4. Escape's Failure

_**Another chapter! Huzzah! Hope you guys enjoy this one, I put a lot of work into it and honestly if you guys post negative reviews I'll stop writing this kind of stuff because I understand that it crosses a line but that is the point of these kinds of stories. This is the kind of story that explores the darker morals of humanity(not that Jonathan has any.) So these stories are not for the faint of heart of the close-minded but I am so happy that so many people read it and like them. Thanks so much! Enjoy the chapter.**_

Clary's body is pulsing with heat as she wakes up. It's not like the last few times, where she forgets where she is, what's happened. She knows exactly where she is and she isn't entirely sure she wants to be here. She still doesn't know if she can condemn her once friends or handle a war or even Jonathan. All he seems to want her for is just to have her, to possess her. She can feel Jonathan's cheek pressed against hers and his arms locked around her, as though he knows what her first thoughts this morning would be.

Maybe she shouldn't be here; even with Jonathan's insistence and his touch maybe she isn't meant to be here. She shouldn't be planning a war, sleeping with her brother. Admittedly, she's not complaining about that part, she loves how he can make her come undone and the feel of his hair between her fingers. She runs her hands through his hair now, feeling it softly fall between her fingers. Maybe he's just using her and when he's done with her he'll dispose of her, just like the Lightwoods.

She hears him groan and he shifts against her, pulling her back down under the covers. She needs to leave, even if she has nowhere to go, she needs to go. She needs to get away from war, from people, from Jonathan, if only to protect herself; she needs to go somewhere where she can just forget everything, if only for a little while. She'll need to find a stele first and get away from Jonathan. He'll never let her go, before he would have killed everyone she loved but now… she has no one left. She can leave freely without fear of Jonathan hunting everyone down.

She can't go now though, Jonathan is half conscious and even like this he won't let her leave, his iron grip locked around her. He'll hold her down and put some immobility rune or tie her up and throw her in a cell. She'll have to wait until Jonathan is occupied with something else. For now though it wouldn't hurt to… comply with his needs, give him more than he expects so he won't suspect what she is going to do. She wants to indulge herself too before she seals herself in isolation, away from people and the Shadow World and all its chaos.

She runs a hand over his cheekbone and a smirk crosses his face, even though his eyes are still closed. His hand splays across her lower back and presses her against him. She smiles, letting herself enjoy this before she disappears, she wants to absorb the physical touch of someone, the heat and feel of someone pressed against her, even her brother.

She grabs his chin between light fingers and touches her lips to his. It is only light for a moment before Jonathan surges forward and straddles her, pressing her back into the mattress. One of his hands is braced beside her head while the other cups her cheek. Jonathan had put boxers on sometime this morning but that doesn't stop him from pressing himself against her so she can feel his desire through her shorts. His want pressed against her makes her core buzz with anticipation and she locks her ankles at the small of his back and loops her arms around his neck.

Eventually Jonathan pulls back, opening his deep black eyes and smirks, running a hand up her side, slipping under her shirt. "That was a wonderful wake up, little sister. What's the occasion?" he says, drawing circles on her skin.

"Can I not kiss my brother just because I feel like it?" Clary says, trying to keep the true intention from her face, hoping Jonathan won't guess what she is planning before it's too late.

"Oh well if that's the case, by all means continue. Far be it from me to deny my sister her wants," he purrs and kisses her again. Clary lets him have his fun with her, kissing, caressing, hot breath blowing against her body, knowing that she will be gone by tonight. That is the deadline she has set for herself, tonight she wants to be gone, alone. She realizes her thoughts for the past few days have been erratic, jumping from staying with Jonathan, to leaving because he doesn't actually want her, to realizing she belongs with him, to needing to get away. Away from the blood, the war, her old friends, the painful memories her nights here have stirred up, the prospect of Jonathan's attention for her wavering.

Jonathan eventually stops, pulling back with a reverent sigh and one last lingering kiss before swinging off the bed. He stretches lazily, reaching his arms in the air, rolling his head around and finally walking to the bathroom. He gives her an enticing smirk before leaving the bathroom door cracked, an invitation for her to join him as she hears the shower start up.

Now is as a good time as any to start looking for a stele. She throws back the covers and pulls on some pants over her skin tight shorts. She found the stele in his closet last time so he is sure to have moved it by now. She pulls open the dresser drawers, moving clothes aside. She finds shirts, socks, shorts, a drawer with Jonathan's pants and one of her bras tossed haphazardly atop them. She frowns and pulls open the next drawer. It is full of Jonathan's boxers most are black, some grey and she shifts them aside to find the stele buried under a pair of white boxers.

She grins triumphantly and pulls the stele out. She makes sure to lace up her boots as she moves to the wall, the blank one and starts sketching her Portal rune. She'll go first, back to her house to pack herself a bag of clothes and other things then she doesn't know where she'll go, maybe Greece, Hawai'i. A small smile touches her lips as she finishes the rune and the swirling doorway opens.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," she hears her brother growl from behind her. He's across the room; his eyes burning with a black rage otherwise his posture is relaxed. His hair is damp and tousled and his only has his boxers on.

"And why not? I don't belong here. I can't go to war with my old friends," Clary says keeping close to the Portal just in case Jonathan lunges for her but he seems to keep his distance, knowing that if he moves she'll step through and be gone.

"Yes you do Clarissa. You belong with me. You're mine and I will find you where ever you go," Jonathan says, edging across the room but Clary takes a step back and he stops.

"But that's the thing Jon," Clary says her eyes glazing over with inner thought. "I don't belong here. You only want me because I'm something you can never have and once you have your share of me you'll just dispose of me like you do so many others. There really isn't anything you can do to stop me," she says her gaze focusing on Jonathan's blank face, carefully swept of emotions. "Everyone I love is dead so you can't threaten me into staying, you have nothing over me and I am only saving myself from war and from the time you finally tire of me. Even if you do find me, even if you do catch me I won't be yours. That is what you want isn't it? For me to break under you?"

She stares at him for a long time and he says nothing, his face cold and detached. She shrugs and steps back into the Portal, letting it sweep her away. She sees Jonathan lunge for her before she stepped through but he was too late.

Clary steps onto the gravel driveway of Luke's house. She's finally mastered Portaling, she can land on her feet instead of sprawling face first onto the dirt. She walks up the drive to her door, reaching on her tip toes and feeling around the roof gutter for the spare key. Her fingers close around the small, cold, metal as she sticks it in the lock. She can't believe it was only a few days ago that Jonathan came to get her and yet there is only a thin layer of dust covering the house. She breathes in the familiar scent of Luke's house, of her mother and step-father. She smiles, remembering fond memories of them after their wedding, before they died.

Striding across the family room before tears can start forming she walks into her bedroom. Opening her closet she grabs one of the duffel bags and starts filling it with her clothes. Once those are packed she moves over to the hidden closet she put in to hide all her shadowhunter weapons and pulls out a weapons belt and bag. Clipping it around her waist she shoves as many knives and daggers as she can in to it along with a short sword and lays a few more swords and other weapons, steles and sensors in the bag.

She slings the straps of both bags over her shoulder and walks over to the wall of her room, drawing another Portal rune. She made sure to pack some bikinis because she plans on going to one of the secluded, uninhabited Hawaiian island and stay there for a while. Maybe she'll use a persuasion rune so she can convince the owner of one of the islands, the ones with private systems of bungalows to sell her the island for twenty bucks.

She looks around her room; gives a melancholy smile before stepping toward the Portal. She'll miss New York but just being here is too painful for her to stand; too many painful memories. She hears a loud crash before stepping into the Portal. That would be Jonathan, come looking for her in the first place he knows she will have gone. She sighs, somehow not afraid and steps through the Portal and out onto a white sandy beach, surrounded by untamed jungle. A clean path through that jungle has been cut, leading to a nice, large, modern bungalow. She smiles and walks up the path. In the bungalow she finds it abandoned, not like away for the summer abandoned, but gone away forever abandoned, it's only been abandoned for a few years she can tell. She smiles, that makes this so much easier, she can put up some warding spells to keep the mundanes away and live in peace. She might even invite Magnus over for the summer, he seems like he would enjoy a Hawaiian get away.

The bungalow isn't in such terrible shape, it seems recently left. The kitchen gourmet, granite counters, stainless steel appliances, open breakfast nook, the wall covered in windows looking out at the beach are only a little misused, covered in a fine layer of dust . The living room's beach facing wall is all sliding glass doors, ones that you can turn to face perpendicular with the wall, only catching a little but some grease on the hinges will fix that. The couches are all soft enough that you can sink into the cushions, once the big cloud of dust disperses. There is a plasma screen that when Clary turns on she finds still has cable service.

She's finally away from the chaos of the Shadow World. No more war or angels or Clave. No more Jonathan. She thinks this get away is well deserved seeing all the things she's been forced to go through. Thrown into the Shadow World, no warning whatsoever, falling in love, being manipulated by her father into thinking the boy she loved was her brother, having to stop the war that Valentine was starting, Jace dying the first time, him being brought back to life, him getting possessed by Lilith, Simon turning into a vampire, Simon having to revive Jonathan, getting tortured by Lilith, Jonathan kidnapping Jace, Clary having to go after them, the Seventh Sacred Site, Jace's heavenly fire, his death, her mother's death, Luke's death, Simon's death, the Lightwoods throwing her out, having to live on her own, alone, Jonathan coming to collect her, sway her to his side until he brings up war, Jonathan starting another angel forsaken war, the angst and possessiveness he has presented her with. Yes, she thinks this vacation, this break is well deserved.

She sheds her clothes and dons a bikini, rummaging around in the bathroom—sunken bathtub, rain shower head, crystal sinks and dark stained wood cabinets— until she finds a fluffy white towel. She heads down the beach in her flip flops, red, two piece bikini and sunglasses. She breathes in the salty, ocean air, different from the ocean by the Jonathan's house. She could get used to this she thinks, laying out the towel on the pristine white sand and lying down on it to tan. She'll put up wards later and she made sure this island was close enough to the big island that she can take one of the many boats she found docked in the boat house to the main island and restock on supplies. Even if the previous owners hadn't left the boats here she could just Portal back and forth but sometimes the mundane way is more fun.

The next few weeks pass without disturbance. After she ran out of food a few days after her arrival she took one of the small speed boats to the main island and went shopping in one of the farmer's markets. That was fun, after putting a speak in tongues rune on, she spoke Hawaiian to the dealers who seemed very pleased to be making trades with someone who spoke their native language. She found a ton of new, delicious exotic fruit to try, she bought pasta, some cooking supplies seeing as the ones on the island were rusted, vegetables, some chicken and beef, spices, sugar, flour, some native, island made chocolate, a cookbook, some renovation supplies to get the bungalow back in perfect shape and a new pair of sunglasses just because she could.

Back on her island, she made herself a master chef, learning how to make native Hawaiian dishes, like grilled fish and white sauce with cut pineapple. At the farmer's market a native woman taught her how to make homemade chocolate and, finding some cacao trees in the jungle around the bungalow, she made her own and it was surprisingly delicious. Magnus found her eventually—reminding her to put up wards as soon as he popped into her kitchen—concerned that she was gone for so long and found she was perfectly happy living in the Hawaiian Islands. He even stayed over and they had cocktails and fresh, grilled shrimp. He didn't ask where else she had been, just assumed that she had been here the whole time and she let him believe it.

Sitting with him now, on the patio at the table, sipping cocktails, looking out at the ocean he tells her about the Lightwoods who she hasn't seen in three months.

"They're past grieving now," he says, the glitter in his hair sparkling against the evening sun. "I think they're just starting to realize you're gone, what they said to you." His voice is quiet, knowing this is a touchy subject for Clary.

"Why would they care about what they said to me? They made their thoughts perfectly clear," she murmurs into her glass.

"My dear, I don't think they did. They were blinded by grief, Isabelle only needed someone to blame," he says softly.

"Then why didn't she blame the Silent Brothers? They're the ones who gave him that potion."

"You were the closest outlet. Dear Isabelle is starting to remember what she said to you, she blocked out most of that day and is only now recalling it. She regrets what she said," he keeps his voice tender.

"You can't take something like that back Magnus. They threw me out when I needed them. Jace…" her breath catches and she holds back tears. "He meant the world to me and I didn't even get to say goodbye. Then my parents…" she lets the words fall away. She remembers now that she hasn't told Magnus about them yet.

"Your parents what Clary?" He turns his head and sees her blank face staring at the waves, sees the tears shining in her eyes. He sets his glass down. "Oh, sweetheart. I'm so sorry, come here." He stands, opening his arms, trying to comfort her. She reluctantly gets up and hugs Magnus, she is aware that Magnus knows loss better than he should have a right to, that her grief and loss is nothing compared to his many life times of pain but comforts her anyway.

"I'm so sorry for your loss," he says. "Is that why you left?"

Clary decides to let him believe that her parents deaths are what made her leave so she just nods. Magnus ends up staying overnight in the guest bedroom after watching a movie with her and eventually pulling her back to happiness. He left the next morning after she took down the wards so he could Portal out.

The next few days Clary slipped back into the routine of swimming, tanning, going to the big island and shopping, doing some mundane work because she got bored but stopping after she found out the island's jungle had demons to be hunted. She found the Honolulu Institute and met the owners, saying she was just passing through and they welcomed her but she did not want to stay long, just in case Jonathan found her. She did not want him to take his wrath out on these nice people.

A week later and she lies on her beach in a dark blue V-neck bikini, propped on her elbows on a soft towel with her sunglasses on, eyes closed, face turned toward the bright Hawaiian sun. Living in Hawaii has darkened her skin ever so slightly, not a lot due to the sun block rune she made as to avoid burns and her hair now the shade of a dark, low burning fire instead of bright orange. She likes the changes the sun has given her, seeing how much her life has changed, it fits her new life. She smiles, smelling the cacao from the jungle and the pineapples growing not far from the shore.

"So this is where you've been the entire time," a voice echoes from behind her. Her body grows rigid and her smile dies. She sits up and takes off her sunglasses to glare at her brother, her gaze a mixture of fear and anger. He stands behind her head, arms crossed, in Shadowhunter gear, watching the ocean. "I've got to admit, not a bad spot." His gaze travels down to her, sharp, pointed and full of anger despite his calm expression. Something inside her twists with a brutal fear; he's pissed and won't hesitate to take it out on her. "You, little sister, are hard to find."

"I didn't want to be found. That was the point," she says coolly, standing up.

"Well bravo, sister, it took me a month and a half but I have to say you need to not wander outside your wards so often and for so long, makes you easier to track, otherwise very impressive," he says, stepping toward her, eyes raking her half naked body.

She sighs, knowing this is going to come down to a fight because there is no way she is being forced back into her hell hole of an old life without some resistance. She looks down at the bikini she's wearing then looks back at her brother who she can see is buzzing with impatience. "May I at least go put on some clothes?" she asks.

Jonathan takes one long stride across the beach, spanning the distance between them until his body brushes hers. Her body starts to shake, he's not even going to let her change, he's going to drag her back to his house in her bikini. His hand snakes around her waist and she sucks in a breath as his hand finds the stele tucked into the lower half of her bikini. He smirks down at her, waving the stele in her face, the one she stole to make her escape.

"Of course little sister, we wouldn't want to ruin a perfectly good bikini, just," he shakes the stele again, "not with this."

Clary closes her eyes in defeat then pulls away from Jonathan, walking up the path to the bungalow. She can feel Jonathan following behind her, his gaze boring into her back. She reaches the wall of turning glass doors and pushes one open, walking down the hall to her bedroom. The soft bed still disheveled from when she woke up this morning sits in the center of the back wall, the curtains drawn across the window facing sunrise. She walks over to the closet and sheds her dry bikini, pulling on a sports bra, panties, tank top and shorts. She ties her hair back. Rummaging in her nightstand drawer she can't find her spare stele, _her_ stele. Jonathan must have raided her house while she was at the beach.

She storms out of the room to see Jonathan standing in the family room, leaning on a couch with his arms crossed, facing the empty space between the couches and the glass doors. He seems to sense her presence and turns to her, smirking. A shiver runs down her back as his hot glare settles on her. She walks over to him, careful to keep a few feet between them. She's a little disappointed; she did so like this beach house.

"I'm not going without a fight," Clary says, stating it as though saying the sky is blue.

He smirk grows and his body tenses. "Oh I know. I was counting on it." And he lunges, going from relaxed and easy to fierce and tense in seconds. Clary dodges to the side and lashes out with her foot, aiming for stomach. He catches her ankle as he spins around and pulls her forward. She jerks toward him instead of pulling back and throws her weight against him sending him crashing to the ground. He braces his fall with his upper arms and Clary with her hands. She straddles his hips now and draws her fist back to punch that smirk off his face but Jonathan bucks his hips, throwing her forward. She manages to keep her feet and bolts up as Jonathan jumps to his feet. They stare at each other for a moment, tense and ready for the other to pounce. Jonathan grins like a mad man, enjoying the fight, the hunt, the chase.

Jonathan makes the first move, lashing out at her stomach and Clary shifts just in time to avoid it but Jonathan prepared for her move and hooks his ankle around hers, tripping her. She falls back into the glass side table, the glass shards digging into her back and she muffles a scream and oddly a smile, remembering in Valentine's apartment when he threw her into the glass dining table. Though this time the metal supports snap into her back and she feels something break.

Jonathan apparently is having the same flash back as her. "Déjà vu, huh, little sister?" Jonathan asks, putting a foot on her chest. The glass digs into her back, broken rib and face, a thin trail of blood flowing from each onto the tile.

"No kidding," she breathes as Jonathan presses down with his foot.

"I won then too."

Clary has recovered enough to grab his ankle and pull him forward so he sprawls on the ground next to her, face first into the glass. He grunts as she jumps on top of him, pinning his arms behind his back. She leans down close to his ear. "I never said it was over."

Jonathan chuckles and shifts his weight under her, throwing her off his back, and she lands on her side, the side with the broken rib and she lets out a scream of pain. Jonathan moves to sit on top of her, crushing her ribs as she tries not to cry from the pain of him moving her rib further out of place. He leans down to her face, both of their faces covered in miniscule scratches. Clary took the worst one, a long slit along her cheekbone that drips down the side of her face. Jonathan's tongue darts out to lick away the blood and she cringes away from him.

"Give up yet little sister? I don't want to damage you too much then I won't be able to torture you the way I like when we get home," he says, his hot breath blowing into the slit on her cheek. She shivers underneath him, both with anticipation, fear and strangely arousal. Clary is shocked at the last emotion, fighting her brother is turning her on. She shoves the feeling down.

She brings her fist up and cracks him in the jaw, hearing a loud snap he rolls to the side, clutching his face with one hand. She hauls herself off the ground, pulling one her daggers she left under the couch. Jonathan quickly recovers from his broken jaw and stands with her. She pulls her arm back and flings the knife at his face. He quickly dodges the blade and dives for her torso, sending them both sprawling on the ground. He tries to pin her arms on the tile but Clary bucks her hips up and slams her knee into his stomach and she rolls on top of him.

Sitting on his chest, trying her best to keep his arms pinned to his side with her knees she draws her hand back again, clutching another dagger she left lying around. She brings it down and at the last second Jonathan shifts to the side so the blade embeds itself in the tile floor. He rolls her over and sits on her legs, immobilizing them but she manages to jerk her elbow into his broken jaw and he lets out a low moan as she pushes him to the side and bolts to the kitchen, ducking under the cupboards to her stash of seraph blades. She pulls one out and crouches on the floor, hiding her body behind the granite island. She hears Jonathan's soft footfall enter the kitchen and she holds her breath.

She hears his exasperated sigh. "Come on Clarissa, I don't have all day. Just surrender yourself to me. You know you're mine," she hears him call from the side of the island. She holds her breath as he rounds the corner and she jumps up slashing with her blade. She manages a nice gash in the side of his arm before he dodges out of the way but Clary lunges again. This time, though, Jonathan grabs her wrist, almost lazily, and twists her arm behind her back. Her forces her forward, bending her over the counter, pressing her face into the cold stone countertop.

"Pity really," Jonathan says, pushing her arm further out of place, threatening to dislocate it. "There are so many things I would being doing to you bent over a counter, little sister." He runs a free hand up her torso, trailing his fingers greedily along her side. "But unfortunately you force my hand," Jonathan purrs, bending over her to whisper in her ear. She can feel how aroused he is through his pants, his want pressing against her thigh. He twists her arm harder behind her back, digging his nails into her wrist but only when he draws blood does she drop the blade. It clatters to the ground as Jonathan grabs her other wrist and wrenches it painfully behind her back. She moans in pain as it jostles her rib.

"Save the moans for the bedroom little sister," he says, pulling out his stele and drawing a binding rune on her wrists. She feels her wrists become encircled with the fiery heat of the rune that burns every time she moves them. With her hands pulled behind her she feels her shoulder is uncomfortable and turns her face into the counter, softly smacking against the stone. Her shoulder is dislocated; Jonathan managed to pop it out of the socket when he forced her hands behind her. She groans as he jolts her back against him, flush with his hot body and his heartbeat, strong and fast against her back. He ducks his head to the crook of her neck and places a soft kiss on her pulse.

"I missed you," he whispers into her skin. She lets herself absorb his warmth, devoid of affectionate human contact for more than a month, especially when Jonathan shows his affection so passionately, she hadn't realized how addicting he was until she left. She almost leans her head back against his chest, closing her eyes, but resists.

"Likewise," she murmurs, not really meaning it as Jonathan drags her into the family room and throws her down on the couch. She starts to scream but she turns it into a muffled laugh as Jonathan straddles her hips then flips her over so she lays face down on the couch. He pushes up her shirt to bare the small of her back where he presses the stinging stele tip to, letting a black immobility rune flow from it. Her legs go slack and numb as he flips her over again. She stares up at her brother, his face ct and bleeding in more than one spot, a dark black bruise forming over where she broke his jaw, his shirt is slightly torn, showing the powerful and deadly muscles beneath. He gives her a triumphant smirk and bends down to kiss her deeply. She stays still, not returning his kiss, no matter how much her body pleads with her to do so, which Jonathan does not seem to appreciate.

He pulls back, a satisfied smile on his face all the same. "That was long overdue," he says.

"Aww," Clary says her voice snarky. "Did you miss your plaything?"

Jonathan growls and digs his knee into her rib, making her scream as he pushes it farther into her chest, pressing it against her lung. She tries not to breath too deeply now, too deep of a breath would make the rib pierce her lung. She resorts to glaring at him, holding back painful tears.

He smirks and kisses her cheek. "If I you were you, I would not think it wise to provoke me further," he whispers in her ear before pulling away. "Don't go anywhere," he says, sliding off her and slipping into her bedroom.

"Fuck you!" She yells after him.

"Not yet!" He calls back from in her bedroom then emerges with her bags that she originally brought here—already packed with her belongings—slung over his shoulder. "I have to punish you first," he says taking her in his arms. Clary stiffens at his words. By the angel what has she condemned herself to? She doesn't regret it though, a month and a half of peace and quiet, no big shadowhunter events, no deaths of her loved ones, just bliss. It was good while it lasted though she knew it had to end. Her life doesn't seem to want to stay normal, ever. He sets her down in front of one blank wall, leaning her back against him, holding her up by her waist, since her legs are immobile. He removes the binding rune and places the stele in her hands.

"Draw a Portal." He demands. "If I catch the hint that you are drawing anything other than a Portal, I will puncture your lung with your own rib. Understand?" He whispers in her ear darkly, punctuating his point by digging his fingers into her side, pressing against her broken rib.

She tries not to suck in a breath and nods. His words sent a chill of fear down her spine; this is the demon she's seen before. Dark and uncontrollable, no mercy or soul or conscience. She wondered how long it would take for it to come out. It still scares her all the same and she knows she's in for hell when they arrive back at the house. She reaches out her hand and quickly sketches the Portal rune. Jonathan snatches the stele from her as soon as she is finished. "Good girl," he says and wrenches her hands behind her once more, replacing the binding rune.

He scoops her up and steps through the Portal into his bedroom, in his house, now Clary's prison. He walks down to his room, everything his, now she's his captive, his prisoner, his slave, whatever you want to call it. He dumps her ungracefully on the floor, making her scream and bury her face in the carpet but unable to move, the rib pressing, dangerously sharp, into her lung. Jonathan walks to his closet to dump her bags, all her clothes, weapons, supplies, art tools, even a few books, all now out of reach in Jonathan's closet.

"You know how hard you were to find?" Jonathan asks, closing his closet door and she hears a lock click.

Clary decides to indulge in his game to try and distract herself from the pain. "Hard enough I got a month and a half of peace from you," Clary grits through her teeth, even in immense pain; she is still not going to comply with Jonathan's rules, she'll play his game but not the way he wants.

He chuckles a little, tugging off his shirt. Clary glares at him as he bares his toned abdomen. "I had to hire quite a few warlocks to lock onto you after I basically tore apart your house. I even paid a visit to the New York Institute," he says, glancing over her to see her eyes widen. "But as I thought you weren't there." He pulls off his pants to reveal black boxer briefs. He didn't say what he did at the Institute and it scares Clary to think of what he might have done trying to get her back. Ever since Magnus told her the Lightwoods were starting to regret their actions part of her has now blazed up in hope that she has someone she can go to but now also someone Jonathan can hold over her. She can't let him know; even if she hasn't forgiven the Lightwoods she can't let Jonathan kill them either.

"I had my demon shadowhunters out looking for you, I had my spy network on the lookout but no one could find you." He walks over and crouches in front of her. She tries to draw back but he just reaches out and pushes her onto her back. She bites her lip to muffle the grunt of pain. Jonathan moves to straddle her, working on the waist band of her shorts.

She knows the struggle is useless so she doesn't bother wasting energy. "Then how did you find me?" Clary asks discomfort growing as she lies on her dislocated shoulder and Jonathan slides off her shorts. His hands trail the cuts along her thighs made from the glass and metal of the table.

"It's a secret little sister," he whispers, leaning down to lick the blood still flowing from the cut on her cheek. He rips open her shirt and tears it off her shoulders, jostling the dislocated one and she can't help the scream. She's panting from the effort of staying conscious through the pain and Jonathan notices, smirking at her attempts.

He pulls out his stele and draws an _iratze_ on his wrist, closing the cuts and scratches on his face, arms and chest. He draws one on his neck and she remembers she broke his jaw. She grins devilishly as he winces, touching his still healing jaw. He catches her smile and squeezes her ribs with his knees. She has to squeeze her eyes shut and smack her head against the floor to keep from screaming, that wipes of her smirk and replaces his.

"I want to have a little fun before I throw you in a cell, little sister, don't ruin it," he says before leaning down and kissing her, deep and sweet, running his tongue along her lip, softly biting down on it. When she doesn't open her mouth for him, his hand slides up her body and rests on her dislocated shoulder. Her eyes shoot open, having closed by themselves, she shakes her head. Jonathan just grins, keeping his mouth on hers as he violently pushes the shoulder back into its socket. Jonathan's mouth muffles her scream and his hips press her against the carpet.

She's surprised she hasn't cried yet but is proud that she hasn't. She lets her eyes close again as Jonathan's hands wander her body and the pain resonates through her shoulder and neck, giving her a headache. Jonathan's mouth travels down her cheek, jaw and neck, trailing hot kisses all the way. He pulls back and drags one of her legs up, resting the back of her knee on his shoulder and he kisses the inside of her thigh, still bloody and cut.

"Why did you run little sister?" he murmurs against her thigh, his voice deep and resonates up her leg to her core, his mouth dangerously close.

She shudders and Jonathan smiles against her skin. "I don't have to tell you," Clary breathes, trying to shift away from Jonathan's mouth but he holds her in place and nips her skin, making her body arch up. "Stop," she moans. This is not fair, Jonathan can't use himself and her own wants against her to get information that is completely useless to him.

"I don't think I will until you answer me, little sister," he growls against her thigh. His hand trails down between her legs, stroking her through the fabric. Clary tries to repress a moan, attempting to pull her legs together but the one draped over his shoulder prevents even that. Her panting speeds up and it's hard to breathe, painful to. She needs him to stop before her rib can pierce her lung.

"Stop, please," she breathes. His mouth pulls away from her thigh but his hand stays between her legs. He leans forward and brushes his lips against hers.

"Why should I? You kept yourself, unfairly from me for more than a month. I believe I can do whatever I want with you in your current position," he whispers but pulls his hand away and her breathing evens out, she leans her head back against the floor, closing her eyes. His hands travel back up her body and tear off her sports bra so he can knead her breast. He rolls his knuckles over the tender flesh and she moans despite herself. Jonathan smiles against her neck.

He trails his mouth down her ravaged body to her breasts while his hands move to grip her hips. Jonathan's eyes flick up to hers, she just glares at him, this being nothing new, just unwanted. His tongue swirls around her nipple and she closes her eyes, waiting for it to be over. His hot mouth encloses her nipple, sucking at her breast. His teeth bite down just enough to make her gasp and arch her body up into his.

"Why did you leave?" he asks again, keeping his hot mouth on her breasts.

"I had to get away, from everything," she says, relenting against the pressure of Jonathan against her. He doesn't say anything else just slides his hands down her hips, pulling down her underwear while he continues to suck her breast. He seems to be lost in the feel of her, desperately trying to feel and hold as much of her as possible.

One hand skims back up to her side and she gasps as his fingers brush her broken rib, her intake of breath making it dig into her lungs while at the same time Jonathan's fingers slip inside her. He pumps his fingers in and out, pressing his thumb against her sweet spot, adding to the forced ache in her pelvis. Jonathan takes the opportunity to envelop her mouth with his, still pumping now three fingers in and out of her. Her body arches into his hot, ready one, hovering above her. Her nails dig into the carpet, her arms painfully bound under her.

"Little sister," he says, pulling back to look at her. She keeps her eyes shut, Jonathan still pumping his fingers and rubbing against her, making her want to melt. "Who do you belong to?"

Angel, this again. She lets out an exasperated sigh. She's tired, she's injured and he's got his fingers in her. Does she really have to deal with this? "Myself," Clary grits.

Jonathan's fingers curl inside her and his nails graze her walls, it's not an unpleasant feeling but it sure isn't comfortable and she shifts her hips trying to avoid the contact. Jonathan just holds her hips down, not allowing her to move. "Why?" he asks. "What good is belonging to yourself?"

Clary manages to open her eyes and stare at her brother in bewilderment. This question is new. She scrambles for an answer. "Because I'm not yours and the one I did belong to is dead," she snaps and Jonathan just presses against her rib and she has to muffle a scream. "Would you stop fucking doing that?" She growls. "If you're going to puncture my lung then do it! Kill me, get it over with, confirm my suspicions and finish me off!" She screams in frustration.

Jonathan glares at her for a moment but she doesn't see it as she keeps her eyes closed against the pain pulsing through her body, fighting for her attention with pleasure, but he pulls out his stele. He has to dig into her skin to get a hold of the edge of the rib, popping the loose bone back into place, provoking an earsplitting scream from Clary before he draws an _iratze _on her torso. She blows out a sigh as she feels the bone mend itself. Jonathan pulls his fingers out of her and she lets her body relax. Jonathan leans down, bracing a hand on either side of her head.

"You still didn't answer my second question," he says quietly.

She turns her face into the carpet, groaning under the weight he is purposely applying to her chest. "Why do I have to?" She knows she's pushing his limits, he's already angry with her, going through sex toy withdrawal, and she can see the demon crashing around in his eyes, begging to busrt free and break her.

He grabs her chin, digging his nails in and turns her head toward him, the pain makes her eyes fly open. "Because I told you to little sister. Now do it," he growls deeply.

A shudder of fear runs through her. "Because it keeps me protected against you," she says quietly, wishing he would throw her in a cell already so she can go to sleep. Jonathan seems to relax a little as he notices the fear he's managed to instill, knowing she'll comply easier and he leans his head against her chest, flicking her nipples with his thumbs.

"How so? You haven't anything to fear from me," he says, his hot breath fanning her chest as he places a kiss on her left breast. He's very confusing, one second he is torturing her by using her own rib to puncture her lung then kissing her breasts tenderly. Frankly her brother is a bit of a drama queen, but a scary, powerful one at that who can beat her in a fight and doesn't hesitate to torture her.

"I have everything to fear from you Jonathan," she says letting the words hang in the air. Jonathan stops his movements and raises his head from her chest, for a moment his eyes look like those of a sad puppy, heartbroken his master left but that look is gone in seconds.

"That was no reason to run away, Clarissa," he says blandly.

"That was every reason to run away! You're a monster and I'm scared of you! You prove yourself loving one moment and then threaten to puncture my lung the next! You're supposed to be my brother and yet you fucked me and not just once. You tracked me down because of your need to possess me, you want to possess me because you see it as forbidden and once you have me completely under your thumb you'll kill me just because the novelty has worn off! You fought your own sister just to get me back here and now have me pinned to the floor naked with you switching between pleasuring me and torturing me. I'd say that is a damn good reason to run away _Jonathan_. Now either fuck me, kill me or throw me in cell somewhere so you can have private time to nurse your hurt feelings!" She snaps, fed up with Jonathan's stupid games.

His eyes blaze with anger as he back hands her and her vision goes white for a moment and her head is flung to the side. She turns her head back to face Jonathan, glaring with a ferocity that matches her brother's. "Kill me it is then. Well go on, get it over with. I have nothing left here for me anyway. I can go laugh at you with Jace in the afterlife!" She screams but sucks in a breath, tears stinging her eyes; she doesn't know where those words came from. Her breath hitches but Jonathan ignores it, he hoists her up off the ground, her underwear falling down around her ankles.

"Oh no, little sister, I'm not going to kill you. I'm going to do much worse until you finally realize your place," he hisses in her ear, pushing her toward the bathroom. Shoving her in, he closes the bathroom door and locks it. "Now clean yourself up before I do it myself," he growls. His black eyes are raging with dark fire as he crosses his arms and leans back against the door, watching her intently. She is somehow not embarrassed in the slightest that she is completely naked in front of him.

"I kind of need my hands to do that," she says, wiggling her hands behind her back.

"That sounds like a personal problem," he mutters, still glaring at her.

She rolls her eyes. "Please," she says irritably trying to put pleading in her voice, knowing she needs to stop adding to the fire of his anger. She's only hurting herself but her anger prevents her from getting down on her knees and begging.

Jonathan huffs but detaches from the door with his stele in hand and removes the rune, freeing her hands. "Thank you," she murmurs before turning away to go turn on the shower. She glances back to see Jonathan still watching her as she steps into the shower. She quickly washes away all the blood from her face and body, wanting desperately to be back on her Hawaiian island, alone on the beach.

Exiting the shower she finds Jonathan standing against the door but with a stack of clothes at his feet. On second glance they don't really look like clothes, more like barely there coverings. She gives Jonathan a skeptical glance, drying off and keeping the towel wrapped around her. The full realization of what she had said hitting her and now her fear of her brother is tenfold of tenfold.

Jonathan nods toward the pile of clothes. "Put them on before I make you. I'm not in the mood for games Clarissa so hurry up," he says coolly, keeping his gaze leveled at her eyes. She picks up the pile to find a black thong along with a small matching bra, a gray tank top and some skin tight thigh shorts. She drops the towel and puts on all the clothes, earning a nod of approval from her brother.

She tenses her body preparing for whenever Jonathan is going to make his attack. He promised worse things than death for her words and defiance and she hasn't the slightest clue when he is going to incite his promise. He takes her arm, still sore from healing, having only received one _iratze_ and drags her out of his bedroom and down the hall to a small bedroom with no windows, no light and only one bed—albeit a queen size bed with a plush comforter and peach duvet— but only a bed all the same.

He shoves her into the room and slams the door. She hears a bolt slide into place and it leaves her in utter darkness. She sighs with exhaustion, feels her way over to the bed and collapses on top of it, falling into a fretful sleep, afraid of what her brother is going to do to her tomorrow.


End file.
